


How Faerghans Eat

by STARfruitNinja



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ageusia, F/M, Food, Food descriptions, Loss of Taste, thats it thats the fic, the relationship is v minor sry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/STARfruitNinja/pseuds/STARfruitNinja
Summary: Despite the fact that Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid all experienced vigorous instruction from a young age on table manners and composing oneself, they had collectively agreed some time ago that those rules went out the window at Garreg Mach amongst their housemates.A study on how Dimitri and the people closest to him eat
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	How Faerghans Eat

**Author's Note:**

> Uh this entire thing is literally just dedicated to food and eating. Idk it might be a little gross to some of yall but i wrote this at 4am, when i was hungry, I'd been watching a bunch of mukbang videos, and I want cromchy fried chimkin...

It was well known that Fhaergans were meat eaters. 

Dimitri was taught from a young age the distinctions between the three nations of Fodland in all regards, including food culture. The Empire and Alliance sat in warmer territory than Faerghus with sunlight and fertile land aplenty, where crops grew large and fat. With the lack of viable agriculture, they had to make do with what they could. And so, potatoes, meats, and cheese became staple foods across the land. With trade and with their two neighbors, Fhaergus could sustain itself even without domestic agriculture. 

Despite the fact that Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid all experienced vigorous instruction from a young age on table manners and composing oneself, they had collectively agreed some time ago that those rules went out the window at Garreg Mach amongst their housemates. Sylvain was the lone exception in that he actually followed his table manners. He chewed with his mouth closed, but honestly spoke more than he ate.

Felix tended to neglect his daily eating for training and, in general, didn’t have a particular disposition towards food. But in the rare moments Dimitri crossed paths with Felix in the dining hall, Felix was somewhere in between reserved and aloof with his eating. His plates were always well portioned, with a bias towards meats and steaks, but that was to be expected. They were both taught by their fathers to nurture their growing bodies with protein. It was common knowledge, passed from father to son.

Felix had a particular fondness for spiced meat skewers, and it was always somewhat entertaining to watch him eat. He had the same eating habits as when he was a child, when he had been discovering his penchant for spiced meats. He would dig his teeth into the cubes and pull them off the skewer one by one instead of eating them off the stick. 

Nobody could compete against Felix’s tolerance for spice. It was a mystery as to where and how he developed such a talent. As children, they had snuck some sweets from one of the cupboards in the kitchen (by lifting Felix onto his shoulders, he missed how comfortable they were with one another once before). They made off with the stash, and enjoyed their candies in the safety of the outside garden hedges. One of those was a spicy cinnamon hard candy; it was bitter and seemed to dry Dimitri’s mouth the moment it touched his tongue. He spat it out immediately, but was surprised to find Felix delightfully enjoying the sucker and rolling it between his cheeks.

There was no mistaking that between the four of them, Ingrid ate the most gluttonously out of all of them. No matter the dish, she never left a scrap behind, even if she didn’t like it. With most of her meals, if she wasn’t disposed towards it, she could restrain herself. If it was her favorite however, she’d tear into her meal with gusto, not pausing for a single word or breath in between.

He, Felix, and Sylvain all found it funny as children. Around their parents, or amongst other nobles in a social setting, she would restrain herself. She was composed and polite, a true model of refined dining hiding a food motivated animal.

“Careful, Felix. After she weds Glenn, she’ll eat you out of house and home,” Sylvain quipped.

“That’s fine, she can have my dessert,” Felix responded, much to Ingrid’s delight.

There was a certain way she’d feast on roasted birds, one of her favorite dishes. He’d never forget during the Faerghus founding celebration when they were young, they had served multiple large turkeys. Sylvain had a few slices of the breast meat with some potatoes while Felix and himself each had a drumstick, and that alone was quite a bit for them to tackle.

Ingrid however, was like a force of nature itself.

At the time, the adults had paid little attention to them at the time, and she took the opportunity to cover her plate with a wing, thigh, and drumstick, all to herself. 

They managed to escape from the typical noble fraternization and hid themselves in a private room, away from the stuffy greetings. And without the need to keep up appearances, Ingrid saw little need in keeping up a facade. 

She forgoed any utensils, picked up her first food item with her hands, and sank her teeth into the crackly skin of the drumstick and thigh, oil running down her chin. She pulled strips off the bone and sucked the savory juices from the meat. They startled when there was a loud crunching noise, she seemed to be gnawing on the ends of the wings before pulling the bones free of the meat completely. She’d dip the meat in gravy and mash, before devouring it in a single bite. In a blink of an eye, all that remained on her plate was a pile of bones, completely stripped clean. 

After she finished wiping her hands and mouth, she finally returned her attention to her friends, who all stared at her in fascination and vague horror. It took some explaining for them to understand that the cartilage on the ends of the bones were edible and a personal favorite of hers.

Dimitri tried it along with Felix, but they both didn’t enjoy it. Ingrid only shrugged and asked them if they were going to finish their potatoes. 

It was only after Dimitri lost his sense of taste did he understand, the contrasting texture was something to enjoy.

It was hard to describe how Dimitri ate. When he was young, just like any other child, he enjoyed food. He loved aromatic soups and savory stews, thick cuts of juicy meat, and scalloped potatoes with cheese. He would wrinkle his nose at the occasional vegetable that graced his plate, but after much scolding from the maids, he would begrudgingly eat it. And just like any other child, he loved sweets. His tutor would reward him with hard candy when he got his answers right and he never failed to ask for seconds when the cook served pie for dessert.

After the tragedy, all flavor was lost to Dimitri’s tongue.

He hadn’t even realized it until a week after the incident. He was only given light broth and bread as he recovered from his injuries. The servants had noticed his lethargy and grief and brought him one of his favorite dishes, onion gratin soup.

He remembered how much his heart swelled at how kind and thoughtful the servants of the castle were. His stomach grumbled the moment he caught a whiff of that mouthwatering aroma. But it was after he spooned some into his mouth did he realise something was different.

He asked the servants if something had changed. A new cook? No? Perhaps the ingredients were from a new place? Or maybe there was a missing ingredient? The maids glanced at one another uncertainly.

Dimitri had another spoonful and that’s when he understood.

He couldn’t taste anything.

It wasn’t as if it was bland. Bland food had some kind of flavor, but this— it was like when he held his breath while eating vegetables. He couldn’t taste a thing.

At this realization, tears spilled from his eyes and he desperately tried to wipe it away, he didn’t want it to get into the food.

The maids had comforted him, a bit confused.

“No, nothing is wrong.” He wiped his tears and tried to put on his best smile. “Thank you, truly. I am immensely grateful you all were thinking of my well-being during this trying time. Please inform the chef of my gratitude.”

One of the maids smiled. “Would you like dessert as well, your Highness?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes, please.”

He couldn’t taste the saghert and cream either.

  


He had gone to the library to see if he could learn anything about it. There was only one book that was remotely related and he could hardly parse through the complex medical terms. 

Eating for him was completely different after the tragedy.

He supposed he was lucky to retain his sense of smell. It was significantly dampened in comparison to before, but he could still recognize many scents thankfully.

While his tongue could sometimes vaguely recognise when a food was spicy or sweet, if he was fed a slice of apple or pear, he’d never be able to distinguish between the two without his sense of smell. There was little joy in eating without the intricacies of flavor. Food was and has always been a symphony for all the senses. Eating without the most vital one seemed to change every food into indecipherable mush in his mouth. 

The aroma of his childhood favorites did provoke some nostalgia, but he couldn’t enjoy it outside of imagining what it tasted like before. 

Dimitri would never again be able to enjoy how creamy onion gratin would melt in his mouth and remember why he loved their castle cook so much. He’d never again be able to experience the joy of sinking his teeth into a well seasoned cut of pheasant, the skin crisped to perfection and thanking the Goddess for the creation of poultry cooking. He’d never again enjoy that wonderful feeling of biting into a crisp peach, the bright, fruity scent overwhelming his senses, just as sugar sweet juices would cover his tongue and run down his chin and ponder for a moment how true love could be borne from a simple fruit.

He didn’t— couldn’t turn to anyone else for help. He didn’t want to trouble the servants anymore than he already had. It was a secret he kept closely guarded, despite being regarding a subject he cared little about. Even Dedue never learned of this.

He simply accepted it as a part of his life, but he’d never shake the sinking feeling in his stomach when the Dedue or the castle cook requested feedback on their latest dish. He could only ever offer vague compliments before diverting the conversation.

He found other ways to enjoy eating, by hyperfixating upon texture. He had to find some joy in the way the crispy, breaded skin of a chicken leg crunched under his teeth, that warm, filling feeling after finishing off a thick, hearty stew. Gautier cheese, an item he despised in his childhood for its pungent aroma, became his new favorite for its many different textures. He loved how it pulled and stretched and, when paired with a freshly crisped slice of bread, made for the ultimate brunch or midnight snack. 

  


Before Dimitri had wedded Byleth, he was aware of her eating habits. The way she ate was reminiscent of Ingrid and yet somehow, even more voracious.

One difference was how she held her alcohol. 

Faerghus had a proud history with spirits. When winter chilled their homes, people warmed up with stories and their filled tankards. Faerghans were well known to be able to drink any other Fodlandian under the table. Sylvain and Felix both demonstrated to be able to do that and a little more, but Ingrid swore herself off any alcohol from a young age.

The Blade Breaker was well known to hold his liquor better than any human being on the planet, even Faerghans, and it seemed the same held true for his daughter.

She’d rip into a turkey, pulling the thigh and drumstick apart, before savagely tearing the meat off the bone with her teeth. She always cleaned the bones completely much like Ingrid did. One thing that Dimitri couldn’t get over was Byleth’s tongue. When she was finished with her meal, she’d suckle the remaining fat off her fingers, before laving her tongue over any missed spots.

And when that was all said and done, she’d down her filled tankard like it was water without a single pause. She’d slam her glass down with a loud bang and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She was a mercenary through and through. Not a single ounce of dining etiquette in her and yet somehow it made her more charming (at least to him). When she was full, there was a certain satisfied haze in her eyes, almost like seeing a well-fed cat.

He got a strange fluttering happiness in him when he’d watch her tear into her meal with such gusto; some kind of deep held satisfaction in watching her dig in made the food seem more appetizing. She ate the food deliciously and it couldn’t make Dimitri happier knowing she was happy and well fed.

He supposed finding joy in how the people he cared the most for enjoyed their food was one way to enjoy a meal.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that ending is awkward i’m just damn hungry ok


End file.
